


Lazy Day Aboard The Starship Aurora

by FrogFacey



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Gen, I'm struggling to tag this its just 1671 words of how I think the mechs spend their free time, Slice of Life, i guess, lyf is added for self care reasons bc I love them, oh dear oh no I'm on mechs brainrot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25609735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrogFacey/pseuds/FrogFacey
Summary: The Aurora is quite a large ship, all things considered, and someone somewhere is always doingsomething.the mechanisms have a day off :^)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84





	Lazy Day Aboard The Starship Aurora

There are quite a few common rooms on the Aurora. This one is very poorly lit, yellowish light coming from behind one of the many sheets and tapestries pinned to the wall. One of them is a table cloth the crew used to use until _someone_ spilled science on it and singed a hole right through the middle. Someone puts his cigarette out against it, what’s one more hole, and stumbles forwards. He’s usually not one for sitting for long periods but he’s been enjoying sitting here digging through the last of his smokes. They’d need to restock the next time they were out. He reaches for his belt and, upon finding his holster empty, runs very quickly through who would find it entertaining to steal his shit. He lands on the master of arms himself and reaches for the knife he has strapped to his boot. He grins as he storms out the door, boots echoing threateningly through the hallway. Today was about to get ten times more interesting, that was for sure.

Someone has hiked a bag over her shoulder and is climbing a support beam. She's on her way to fix something, probably one of the fans. The vents have been overheating which means everyone's rooms have been disgustingly hot and sticky for far too long. Being immortal screwed with everyone's sense of time but apparently, it didn't extend to the amount of time any of them could be uncomfortable. She wedges her heavy work boots into the few footholds she can find, having memorized the layout of each of her hidy holes a millennium ago, and slowly made her way to the only place wide enough for her to sit. She likes this spot, close enough to the ceiling that she can reach her hands up and feel warmth buzzing over her head and close enough that she can hear the Aurora humming without disturbing anyone else. Or rather, without anyone disturbing her. The others have started placing bets on how long it will take until she finally loses her balance, falls and splits her skull open on the floor below. She takes her chances and pulls her bag off, taking a wrench and getting to work.

On top of the table in the mess hall sits someone else, a toothpick between his teeth. He’s long since given up on divvying up food for his octokittens. He decided that he could probably just throw something down to wherever it is they’re hiding and watch what happens. They’re tough creatures, lovable too. He hums to himself and taps the flintlock pistol by his side. It’s not his, he’s waiting patiently for the first mate to find out it had been nabbed from under his bed and start up a well-needed shootout. That's what he needed, he thinks, it's been a dull few weeks and he needs something to shoot at. Sure, the others are fun but there is something so entertaining about cackling as you shoot the shins of one of your oldest friends. Hell, maybe he could decapitate him again, that could be fun. He stretches and bites down on the toothpick, splitting it in half, and chucks the pieces to the small bin by the door.

Someone is leaning against the main controls, peering at an old star chart he found in a drawer in the library. He’s boring right now, apparently. It works best for piloting as he’s less likely to see how close he can get to the gravitational pull of a star before threatening the Aurora. He takes his hat off and sits it by the map, tracing one metal finger over an interesting constellation. The last time they were there it was mostly desert, it would be nice to see how they’ve been going for the past few decades. Even if it would end up with a few buildings burned to the ground and some bars emptied of their top-shelf liquor (or grimey bathtub moonshine, knowing their luck and taste in alcohol). He put a quite literal pin in it and stood up, leaving his hat sitting against the armrest of his chair, aiming to go suggest it to the rest of the crew. That is if someone doesn’t sneak up and flip the switch on his way to one of the common rooms.

Someone is folded up underneath a quite fetching side table. Wood creaks as it settles further into its position, uniform crumpling against the table leg. It seems comfortable enough, it was ordered to sit and decided that under the table seemed best. It had a little think, humming to itself, and decided that _he_ fit best for today. He nodded and closed his eyes, content with today's work. Tea would be in order but that was for later, now it was time for sitting and thinking. So think he did. He thought about scones and biscuits and crisp uniforms and orders and angels. It took a lot out of you to think, he thought, bringing his only free arm up to scratch at his chin. He thought about mandolins next, about tuning and playing and strings and then he cast his thoughts to accordions. It was a busy day, good thing he was sitting down.

The last adventure the crew had been on had found them some very curious specimens indeed. Someone has pressed a scalpel into what was quite possibly organic matter at some point. She hums and her wings flutter for a moment as she thinks. She lets the scalpel dangle in her hand as she twists to reach for the long, curling tube slowly transferring liquid from one beaker to the next. It turns a pleasant pink colour as she stirs it. It was corrosive and, if she hypothesized correctly, if it mixed with whatever it was she was stabbing it would cause it to twitch uncontrollably. Certainly fun to watch, even more fun to prove the theory she was slowly making. As she waits for her wiggle water to finish she turns to her desk to take notes. It was only science if you took notes. That was science 101. She hums again as she scribbles in her notebook, doodling a sun in the corner and some flowers down the side. It was a productive day, all things considered. And hey, if her experiments don't work she can always say she burned a hole through the middle of what was presumably organic matter.

Far down the hallway, a box of matches and a sleeve full of cards are thrown from someone’s many pockets. They’d been banned from cards for the day, after being called out for cheating. Like their first mate hadn’t cheated enough for the rest of them. Besides, they weren’t _cheating_ at poker, it just depended on your house rules. They take a lighter out of their vest pocket and consider setting the box alight. It isn’t a very orthodox way of arson-ing but they don’t have any lighter fluid on them right now and they’re itching to fuck with _something_ and if that something was their other flammables, so be it. What they did for the crew depended on your definition of Quartermaster, sometimes they took note of supplies and sometimes they took care of signals. This currently was a signal for It’s Fucking Boring. Most of them were fluent in “arson language” so they were pretty sure the message got across.

Curled up against a bookshelf someone sits with a blanket pulled over her shoulders reading. She didn’t like sleeping at the best of times so instead, she just sat and read. She has a slowly cooling cup of tea by her feet, given to her by their science officer. She smiles into her book and reaches down to take a sip. Currently, she is learning about plant variations in ice deserts. Fascinating, truly. She peers down at a diagram of grass, annotations _everywhere_. It was perfect! She blinks, hearing her brain whirr away as she stores it in her memory. Her tea is still far too hot but she takes another sip anyway, positioning herself to turn the page one-handed. Above her there’s a clunking in the air vents, she doesn’t have to be a genius to know that someone is crawling around up there.

Outside the lab stands someone holding a notebook and a stubby, blunt pencil. He is considering titles. And swords. He’s technically not a doctor and technically not a baron but as far as he’s concerned, job descriptions don’t really work aboard the starship. They already have one first mate with a hankering for the captain’s title and one quartermaster who does more ruining game nights and burning things than actual quatermastering. He could be a fake Dr Baron if he really wanted. Besides, it wasn’t like any of them were going to check. He jots down a quick “sir” and scribbles it out to replace it with an “honourable” and nods. That seems appropriate. He likes the idea of being the “good honourable doctor*” rather than “the good doctor*” (asterisk added for legal reasons).

Someone is sitting on the counter in the kitchen. They aren't tall but their legs are long and one sits folded underneath the other as they reach into a dusty cupboard by the corner. Their hair is long and braided seemingly at random. Like whatever had fallen in their way had been taken care of quickly with ribbons and rubber bands and cords left in the hallway. Either their hair is brown with grey streaked down from their temples or their hair is grey and the dye had long since washed out. They hold an old glass jar gingerly, digging around with spindly fingers through assorted boiled lollies. They'd long since stuck together, melted sugar coating the bottom of the thick glass. It's still more or less edible so they pick at one of the looser lollies, coming back with one and a half, and pop it in their mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> so I read through all of the fiction on the mechs website the other day and I really vibe with it mostly bc half of it is just nastya angst and also I really like how who killed doctor carmilla is formatted. do the cards like,,,,symbolise anything or are they just kinda there?
> 
> also I just,,,,,,,I just really like the bifrost incident,,,,,,,,,,


End file.
